


Like Lightning on a Sunny Day

by orphan_account



Category: due South
Genre: F/F, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-24
Updated: 2012-07-24
Packaged: 2017-11-10 14:51:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/467516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frannie is hit by a bolt from the blue, but so is Stella, so perhaps they have some common ground.  Common ground that is prone to lightning strikes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Lightning on a Sunny Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Luzula](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luzula/gifts).



> This is for Luzula, for encouraging Thinky Thoughts about Frannie. I reiterate my position: she was a prevailing character on the series, but ill-served by the writers as part of a didn't-quite-carry-it-off Every Woman Lusts for Fraser running gag. She really deserved better.

Frannie’s heard about this happening. Lust, strong and unpredictable and undeniable, striking from nowhere, for no reason. She wants Benton Fraser, sure, who doesn’t, but that’s more _abstract _to her. What she wants from Fraser is to shatter his I’m-better-than-you, butter-wouldn’t-melt-against-the-glacier-that-is-my-tongue control. If she could get Constable Fraser to a primitive state, a state when he wants a woman, wants _Frannie _so much that he sheds his perfect Mountie image…well, that’s a fantasy that has kept her company on more than one lonely night, living in her childhood bedroom, a failed marriage behind her.____

At least she has a double bed this time. Not like she’d have an overnight male guest under Ma’s roof, but she likes the idea that it’s possible, however improbable.

But today Frannie’s lust is like a bolt from the blue. Frannie’s not doing anything special. She’s spent the day making coffee, which, having seen _Working Girl _she knows she should find demeaning and insulting and yet she does not. She knows that cop-shops run on caffeine, and she prides herself on having manipulated circumstances in such a fashion that the 27th District now has a golden reputation for having seriously terrific coffee while all the other schlubs in Chicago are shoveling down swill that has nothing to recommend it (not even heat!) other than “it’s some kind of caffeine.”__

Her people, in the 27th, get the good stuff. Word’s going around town. And Frannie can’t help but feel good about that.

But she’s not even making coffee. She’s just doing some tedious data entry on a backlog of case files. It’s really dull and there is nothing inherently sexy about typing “The officers responded to the call from the gym and determined that the petty theft from the locker room was not part of a greater ring of theft from common use areas in Chicago health clubs.” It’s like anti-sex.

Yet from nowhere her gut twists, her nipples get tight, her throat somehow closes and opens at the same time, and she feels a rush of wetness between her thighs, making her ready for…whoever.

She knows that this happens to guys. Like, apparently, all the time. One of her friends has an unusually, endearingly frank husband and he once said, about unexpected erections, “Well, every man has a ton of ‘no shit, there I was!’ stories.” 

Well, no shit, here she is. And inexplicably horny. But “horny” is such an inadequate, inelegant word. For Frannie, who’s pretty sure she’s heard every joke, and very nearly every “no shit, there I was” story, and tried to sympathize, it’s not crude or disgusting at all. It’s primal: she wants someone, and now.

She shifts in her seat, hoping no one will notice. Good thing everyone in the 2-7 thinks of her as Vecchio’s weird, twitchy, man-hungry sister. But then ASA Kowalski sweeps in, golden and perfect, and somehow she becomes twined, _intertwined _even, with Frannie’s sudden arousal.__

Lieutenant Welsh calls Frannie in to take notes to cover his meeting with ASA Kowalski. Frannie takes her steno pad with her, giving her hips a little swing under her black miniskirt and pale blue blouse. She’s pretty sure both Harding and ASA Kowalski notice her body. She gets even hotter, knowing that she’s attractive, but the basic problem remains, is increased, even: she wants someone. Now.

But that doesn’t keep her from being absolutely professional and accurate as she takes notes on the meeting, although it’s dull as ditchwater. 

She looks over at ASA Kowalski, who looks as flushed as Frannie feels. She has a lot of sympathy for Stella Kowalski. The poor woman was married to Ray (the other Ray, the Fake Ray, who Frannie has to admit she finds vaguely attractive but also kind of exhausting) for most of her adult life. Frannie figures Stella Kowalski is ready to play the field, but it’s a novel idea to her that maybe ASA Kowalski, of the Gold Coast, of University of Chicago and the University of Michigan Law School, maybe gets hit by a lightning bolt of lust like the one that just hit Frannie.

Frannie knows she herself is in a state. Knows that her judgment is poor (and vaguely wonders if this is how men feel all the goddamned time, poor bastards). But she’s got the feeling that ASA Stella Kowalski is in the same boat.

When the interminably tedious meeting with Harding is over, Frannie makes sure to brush against ASA Kowalski as they exit his office. If she wasn’t sure about Stella Kowalski before, she is when they make physical contact. Just the slight brush Frannie allows herself to have with Stella’s body makes both of them gasp. If Harding weren’t so wrapped up in a phone call with his accountant, Frannie might be worried that he’d pick up the signals Frannie knows she’s giving off.

Only Frannie can hear Stella’s brief exhalation as their bodies touch. She forces herself to nonchalantly offer Stella a cup of coffee, does everything but take Stella’s hand to draw her into the break room. Stella allows it to happen, in a seeming daze.

Frannie futzes with the machine, blushing and glancing over at ASA Kowalski, who’s also blushing. Frannie is so ready for…anything that might come along that she allows herself to be bold.

“You noticed,” Frannie says, trying to keep her voice steady.

“Yeah,” ASA Kowalski replies, her voice sounding as shaky as Frannie’s felt. Frannie makes an executive decision that they’re both ready for something a hell of a lot stronger than coffee.

“There’s a thing,” Frannie blurts. 

“A thing?” Stella’s distracted, clearly not really expecting Frannie Vecchio to make much sense. 

Frannie keeps her silence long enough that Stella eventually has to meet her gaze.

“A thing,” Frannie repeats herself, trying to inject meaning and innuendo into her voice. “In the supply closet. You might want to see it.”

And somehow, hooray and hallelujah, Stella meets her gaze, her eyes widening in a combination of surprise and interest. “You should probably show me this thing, Ms. Vecchio,” Stella says, very properly.

And then they’re in the supply closet, like so many couples before them. Like Frannie herself, that time Fraser needed Fake Ray’s “secret” files (and Frannie still wonders what it was that was so secret about Fake Ray’s files that he kept them hidden in a book about Canadian Impressionists, but she played along, pretending to herself that she and Fraser were in the closet for _Sword of Desire _reasons, not purely practical ones).__

But now she’s in the closet with ASA Kowalski, and she’s a Civilian Aide, and there’s no reason she and Stella Kowalski would have to be hiding out here except that the same urge hit them both at the same time.

“I’m almost sick with it,” Frannie whispers to Stella, crowding her against the shelves. She’s not entirely sure why she’s whispering; it’s a supply closet. It’s dark, secluded and silent. That’s why everyone uses it to….

“I need it, too” Stella moans in reply. “Jesus, Francesca, I need something inside me. Right now.” Stella’s voice is urgent, commanding and desperate at the same time.

“God, so much,” Frannie agrees. She’s shoving Stella’s skirt up, her pantyhose down. She wants to tear at them with her nails, with her teeth, but she knows she can’t. Not being able to tear and claw at ASA Stella Kowalski’s clothing, forcing herself into uncharacteristic restraint, somehow enhances Frannie’s arousal. They both know the score: they can’t leave this closet with smudged lipstick, with a single hair out of place, with inexplicably huge runs in their hose. 

It’s forced tenderness, Frannie thinks. She has to be careful of Stella’s clothes, and it’s an extension of being careful of Stella herself. Stella is, for now, simply _receiving _Frannie’s attentions, but her steady gasps and moans tell Frannie just how much Stella needs this. Needs this as much as Frannie does.__

Frannie kisses Stella’s neck. “Let me, oh God, let me,” Frannie entreats against the smooth skin of Stella’s jaw.

“Please,” Stella says, and there’s a hitch that’s almost a sob in her voice as Frannie moves in for a kiss.

Frannie’s and Stella’s tongues intertwine as Stella’s smooth, pale hands capture Frannie’s so they can both push Stella’s hose out of the way. Frannie wants to be careful, to be delicate the way Stella deserves, but she can’t stop herself from pushing Stella even harder against the shelves of copier paper and paperclips, pushing her hand down to where she’s freed Stella from her designer hosiery. Frannie lets go of their kiss, reluctantly, and Stella responds by turning her head slightly to the side. Frannie licks at Stella’s exposed mouth and jawline, loving the feel of all that smooth, pampered skin. So much like Frannie’s own skin, so different from what she’s forced herself to learn to expect.

“Like that, yes, like that,” Stella says disjointedly, and Frannie feels the vibrations of Stella’s words across the skin and bone of her perfect, perfect face as Stella tells Frannie how much she likes what they’re doing, and Frannie allows herself to feel powerful even though her own desire is making her just as vulnerable as Stella.

“So wet,” Frannie mutters, for once not thinking about how her desire is making her talk, making her sound. If she let herself think about any of this, she’d never allow any of it to happen.

“Yes,” Stella moans in agreement, pushing herself down as Frannie works her thumb against Stella’s clit, shoving two fingers into Stella while Stella moans nonstop. Frannie shifts her head so that her neck absorbs Stella’s moans, which feed her lust even further as Stella pushes herself down on Frannie’s hand.

“Oh, God,” Stella moans, and her whole body shudders in pleasure. Frannie never knew that one woman could make another feel like this.

Stella’s still shivering in aftershocks when she says “Let me” to Frannie. And Frannie lets her. Lets Stella push past Frannie’s pantyhose and boyshorts, her own hands skillfully busy against Frannie’s clit, inside Frannie’s cunt, while Frannie’s head tips back against the bare steel shelves of the supply closet and allows herself the indulgent luxury of climax upon climax.

Stella and Frannie slowly return to the real world. The supply closet becomes a storage room again while they each shift their own clothing back into place, smooth their hair. Frannie thinks they should check their makeup, but is hesitant about turning on the bare bulb for light, but Stella takes the decision from her, pulling on the chain and presenting a compact.

So each of them restores her outward appearance. Frannie is reluctant to let go of what they just shared, but has no choice. It was what it was. Two women, struck by lust at the same time, and finding a way to satisfy themselves.

Frannie doesn’t want to fool herself again. Doesn’t want to believe that this meant anything more than when she practiced French kissing with Consolata McGuire in the eighth grade. Except that…practicing kissing with Consolata McGuire did actually mean something, even though neither of them had dreamed of admitting it at the time. 

Sometimes they see each other around the neighborhood. What’s left of the neighborhood, anyway. When she and Consolata were in junior high, the interstate system was busy chopping up the neighborhood, but everyone’s tried to find a new neighborhood. She and Consolata don’t go to the same church, but when Our Lady of Guadalupe was closed for repairs, Consolata and her family came to Saint Sebastian, no problem. And Frannie and Consolata looked at each other like old friends, not like…jilted lovers. Chatted about this and that after Mass over cookies and punch. No big deal.

So Frannie’s not going to make this thing with ASA Stella Kowalski into a big deal. Not at all.

But the thing is…neither she nor ASA Kowalski are in junior high. They’ve both been married and divorced. And Frannie tells herself that what happened between them in the supply closet was a fluke…but still. It happened. And it wasn’t just “practice” for when a boy, or a man, came along. To Frannie, it was more than that. And she’s pretty sure that it was more than that to Stella.

But admitting it to herself, to Stella, and getting Stella to admit to it…Frannie hopes she has the courage to do so. Some day.


End file.
